


Old Worn 'n Faithful

by brofancy



Series: Collateral Damage [1]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-28
Updated: 2012-04-28
Packaged: 2017-11-04 11:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/393172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brofancy/pseuds/brofancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Tony aren't talking after Tony comes clean about an unintentional affair. Steve may be hurt in every way imaginable but that doesn't mean he doesn't miss the man...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old Worn 'n Faithful

**Author's Note:**

> There's a few songs intertwined with this fic: Ella Fitzgerald&Louis Armstrong - [Don't Be That Way](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W0c77-wbYis), Frank Sinatra - [The Way You Look Tonight](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ynuKdYEAlzQ), Frank Sinatra(again) - [ Could Write a Book ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UwoZNHhFgLQ)

 One of the things Steve liked about older houses was that the aged wood creaked. There was a sense of comfort that came with the hushed groaning of an old house. But modern buildings didn't creak at all. In fact, Steve was sure this place didn't make a single sound aside from the wind blowing across the large paneled windows. If Steve stood still in the middle of the kitchen, he could hear the light humming of the fridge, the quiet buzzing that came with all the technology that lay around every corner; _everything._ It was near maddening, no wonder Tony spent so few hours here in his penthouse.

“JARVIS, if you put some some Ella Fitzgerald on I'd really appreciate it.”

“ **I'll set it to your last Pandora station. Is this alright, Captain Rogers?** ”

“Wonderful, actually. Thank you, JARVIS.”

“ **Of course.** ”

And suddenly...

... _April skies are in your eyes, but darling don't be blue...don't cry, oh honey, please don't be that way..._

Sighing, Steve set the dish dish in the sink, and began toward the bedroom. If there was one thing he couldn't complain about, it was the speakers Tony had conveniently installed about the place. They had many purposes, but much like Tony, this was generally how he liked to use them.

It'd been nearly a week and a half since said genius had disappeared and despite how angry he was—no, angry wasn't the right word. Despite how _hurt_ he was(shattered to his core might even be a good analogy), Steve still missed him. Even when either of them were away on missions, they would at least skype or find _some_ way to see each other. A week and a half with no contact after having been together nearly inseparably for so long was torturous. No matter how hurt Steve was.

Truth be told there was one thing Steve missed the most.

Throwing open Tony's closet door, a slew of suits and ties hung side by side an array of t-shirts and designer jeans, Steve paused to take a deep, long breath, a sad smile crawling to his lips. The _scent_ was overwhelming.

_Someday, when I'm awfully low, when the world is cold..._

Biting his lip guiltily, he glanced at the far corner where one of Tony's favorite t-shirts peaked out from behind a deep navy suit.

_And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, it touches my heart..._

“Dammit, Tony...” he grumbled, marching as casually as he possibly could toward the shirt. Carefully, he unhooked the shirt from it's hanger and read the front, as if he hadn't seen it a million times already. ' _Black Sabbath_ '. A band Tony obviously loved enough to wear repeatedly over such a long period of time. ' _It's an original, Steve. I'd stop wearing it, 'cause eventually I might wear it out but...but...I can't. I just can't. That's not even an option,_ ' the man had babbled when questioned about it. Steve hadn't asked anymore, especially after Tony had tried to get him to actually _listen_ to the band. Tony might have loved them but they certainly weren't Steve's cup of tea.

Steve pressed the worn article of clothing to his face, inhaling deeply as the decades of labor and casual outings wafted through his nose, exciting his senses.

_If they asked me, I could write a book, about the way you walk and whisper and look..._

Finding himself a bit overwhelmed, Steve settled onto the ground, rubbing his thumb over the fraying fabric. “...Dammit Tony...” he repeated, gripping the shirt a bit tighter. He missed the man. Missed everything about him, missed the way he looked, the creases about his features, the way he smelled...the way he felt pressed up against Steve at night...missed the face he made just as he was about to release...the sounds he made...the incessant talking...

A rush of heat bound through his body, causing his cock to twitch to life. Biting his lip, Steve closed his eyes and inhaled the intoxicating scent again. “Damn...” he whispered, guiltily feeling himself get harder.

Steve had never been much for masturbation, for one reason or another, but quite frankly feeding Tony's sexual appetite could change that for anyone. Tony was no spring chicken, he'd be the last to deny that, but he still had the libido of an animal in heat. Even on lazy days, he'd insist on at least jerking Steve off, though really, he seemed to prefer giving blow jobs.

Swallowing hard, Steve pressed a hand to his crotch, palming himself through his sweats. Using his free hand to bury his face in the t-shirt again, Steve's breath caught, a quiet groan tip-toeing from his mouth. His eyes snapped up to a pale gold button down not but a few inches away. Setting Tony's prized possession down with the utmost care, Steve reached out and grabbed the dress shirt, almost laughing as he tugged at the sleeve, pulling it into his lap. _Silk. Of course._

Steve had heard of this shirt, but had yet to actually see it.

_If there's anything I regret buying, it's that fucking gold, silk shirt. Damn thing doesn't go with any pants, let alone suits. It's so tacky I have to lie about being drunk when I bought it. I'd give it away but...everyone need at least one tacky shirt. It'll come in handy one day..._

And hopefully, Tony would forgive him for making use of it in such a vulgar way...

Tangling his hand in the soft fabric, Steve dipped a few clothed fingers beneath his waistband, inhaling sharply. Steve grabbed for Tony's shirt again pushing it up to his nose for the umpteenth time, wanting yet another whiff of the natural scent that seemed to radiate from it. “Tony...” Steve moaned, muffled by the fabric.

Pulling from his pants his now aching length, Steve began to tentatively stroke himself, the article of clothing practically wrapped around his member. A trembling breath hitched as he pressed a few fingers to his head, “ _Dammit_...”

Steve gripped the base as best he could around silk, and pulled a good potion of the shirt off as to better stroke himself. 

A final whiff and Steve was done for.

Spitting into his hand, he began fervently stroking himself, more focused on getting off now than anything. Grunting, he stilled just enough to pull press the soft fabric to the underside of his length, massaging the base with his middle and index finger. “Smells...so good...” Steve groaned, dropping the gold button down to continue stroking himself. Opening his mouth, Steve moved the Black Sabbath shirt to bow over his cock, allowing a string of saliva to pool among his lower front teeth, and drip out and over his lip.

That much slicker, Steve was able to stroke faster, arching his back as buried his face once more in the familiar aroma. “Oh... _h—ell!_ ” Steve grunted, cumming with a near painful, bodily jerk.

Panting, Steve peered down at the mess he'd made, hand beginning to slow as the intensity of his orgasm faded. That tacky, gold button down was covered in cum. Scoffing, he couldn't help but smile as he thought, _Hey, maybe Tony'll like it a little better,_ before letting himself lean back until he was laid comfortably on the carpeted floor.

It was embarrassing, really. Even after everything Tony'd put him through, he was still drawn to the man like a moth to a flame.

But, as they say, playing with fire will only get you burned, and God knows he was already tending to a pretty awful wound.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a prequal to [Anything But Atonement](http://archiveofourown.org/works/390503). I originally wrote it is a drabble for my RP Partner, but then it turned into a mini fic and I decided I might as well post it on here too.


End file.
